


Stoki Drabbles

by Syrum



Series: Avengers Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Character Death, Drabbles, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Prompt Fill, Torture, Tumblr Prompt, some darkfic, warnings will be posted for those chapters in the descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my shorter ficlets from prompts on Tumblr, and a few from the recesses of my mind that aren't long enough for their own story, all Stoki</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> After an argument leaves Steve alone and brooding, Bucky tries to talk some sense into him.

_You are a goddamn mess, Steve Rogers._

Steve startled, almost standing from his seat, glancing around his room frantically. “Bucky?”

_Yeah, s’me Stevie. Like anyone else has the sense to tell you when you’re being an idiot._

“Why are you in my head? More importantly, how exactly?”

_Beats me. Maybe someone you know thinks you’re being a goddamn idiot too and wants me to smack some sense into you? That dark-haired god you’re sweet on, perhaps?_

Steve could feel his cheeks colouring, could feel the bubbling laughter of his friend within his mind. “How did you know about Loki?”

_Give me more credit than that, Stevie, of course I knew._

“Can you read my thoughts?” He certainly hoped not; there were ideas and memories in there that would make even Stark blush, he did not want to arm Bucky with those.

_No, I’ve no desire to know what goes on in that head of yours, especially not where he’s concerned._ Steve felt the other man shudder, though it wasn’t disgust as such, more like the ‘I do not want to know’ of a concerned sibling. _If you must know, he came and found me a couple months back._

“And how did that go?”

_I tried to kill him, That didn’t work out so well, as you’ve probably noticed. Anyway, once I figured out he wasn’t there for blood, I let him say his piece. He said, since I’m pretty much the only family you’ve got, he wanted to get my blessing for him to **court** you._

Bucky was snickering softly to himself, the words jolting even within Steve’s mind as he tried to suppress his laughter. “Why would he do that?”

_I dunno genius, maybe because he’s in love with you? You are so goddamn dense sometimes it’s painful._

“Oh.”

_Yeah, ‘oh’. And now here we are, and here you are, moping, because of some stupid argument about something even stupider. I swear to God, if you fuck this up because of your martyr complex I am going to beat your ass so hard you won’t be sitting down for a week. Now go and find him and apologise for being such a massive dick._

“Language!”

_Go!_

“Yessir.”


	2. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint probably shouldn't have been listening in. It wasn't HIS fault the conversation was so...revealing, though.

“Holy- Tony, that thing is _huge!_ ” Clint paused in the hallway, listening, the sound of Steve’s voice carrying through from the kitchen. “I’ve never _seen_ one that big.”

“Well, I didn’t want to boast.” Of course he did, Clint thought, this was Tony Stark, he would boast about his natural hair colour if he could. A blur to his left and Clint’s hand shot out on reflex, the motion stopping Pietro in his tracks. A hand to the speedster’s mouth and a quick shush sign were all he needed, and Pietro was listening as well, pressed back against the wall.

“No, seriously, it’s…quite impressive.” Steve certainly sounded impressed, and Clint could not pretend that his mind hadn’t gone straight to the gutter. Were Tony and Steve a…thing?

“It’s not all that impressive, Stark.” Loki’s low drawl put his hackles up, but he remained silent, listening, a light flush covering his cheeks. Tony and Steve and _Loki_? He wasn’t exactly a boy scout himself, but that was a bit much even for Clint, and in the _kitchen_ of all places!

“Oh, and I suppose you have a bigger one?” Stark again, the disbelief evident in his voice. Pietro was sniggering into his hand to Clint’s left, Clint tried to ignore it.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Well go on then, don’t keep us in suspense.” A pause, a rustle, and then. “Fuck me, that’s just ridiculous.”

“It’s certainly bigger than yours.” Steve sounded amused, footsteps clacking against the wooden floor as he moved. “It looks heavy, can I touch it?”

“Of course, though please be careful, I do only have the one and your strength is…sizeable.”

“I can be gentle, don’t worry.”

“Unlike my oaf of a brother, who very nearly crushed it earlier.” Loki and Thor as well? Clint was starting to feel a little green around the gills, and the way Pietro was leaning on him, barely suppressing the fit of giggles he was apparently suffering from, was certainly not helping matters.

“Is Thor’s as big?” Tony, more footsteps, and a low appreciative whistle. “Damn, that is heavy. Thick, too.”

“I said the _Captain_ could touch it, not you. Keep your hands to yourself.” Loki snapped, and Clint could practically see the raised hands and wide-eyed innocence upon the billionaire’s face. “No, his is pitifully small by comparison, it’s embarrassing really.”

“Probably shouldn’t tell _him_ that.” Steve laughed, and Clint was left with a mental image he hadn’t wanted. Several mental images, in fact. “It looks so delicious, though, I really can’t wait to taste it.”

“You really are too impatient, Captain.” Clint had, most certainly, heard enough. Face flaming he turned to leave, to be anywhere aside from outside of that door, listening to that conversation. Pietro was still laughing as he grabbed the archer’s hand, dragging him bodily into the room with the trio.

They stood at the kitchen worktop, an oversized pumpkin in Steve’s hands while a slightly smaller one sat upon the granite work surface. Clint’s mouth opened and closed, fish-like, as all three turned to look at him. He was still bright red and would, at that moment, have quite liked the floor to have opened up and swallowed him whole. Pietro was howling with laughter, it was all he could do to stay upright, not resisting as Clint pulled him forcefully from the room.

“Well, that was odd.”

“So.” Loki turned his attention back to Steve, plucking the pumpkin from his hands. “When shall we start carving them?”


	3. Harsh Whisper

He was shaking all over, the quiver more than a little noticeable as he was forced back against the wall. He, Loki of Asgard, prince to the realm and second in line to the throne, reduced to near nothing by the man - no, the _god_ , standing over him. The man was mortal, yes, but he was a god amongst men and Loki was more than willing to worship on his knees for such a being.

“Say it.” A harsh whisper in his ear, and Loki found his hands pinned either side of his head, drawing a small whimper from between clenched teeth as he was pressed further back, vision filled with blonde hair and solid muscle. “ _Say it!_ ” Harder still, and it was all Loki could do to keep himself lucid, drowning in the power before him, barely able to breathe.

“I am yours.” He finally gasped out, sharp teeth biting down hard enough upon his neck for him to cry out, pushing forward, the hard body at his front unrelenting. “I am forever yours, my Captain.”


	4. Trembling Hands

“Where have you _been_ , I was worried sick!” Loki had been gone for almost three days, with no note left, no indication of where he might have gone and no sign that he might return. Steve had hoped, had prayed that the man he had slowly over the years grown to care for, perhaps even love, would return unscathed. 

Unscathed he was not; the leather covering his knees and elbows were near enough worn through, and a large gash punctuated one high cheekbone, while a myriad of smaller scrapes and cuts were visible above the high collar of his coat. Such trifles should have meant nothing to the god, healing in moments and offering him little in the way of pain, and yet for some reason they didn’t seem to want to go, marring that beautiful skin with red and purple.

“I _am_ terribly sorry, I ran out of magic somewhere in England and I had terrible trouble getting back.” Oh. Well, that explained the taxi cab that dropped him off, Steve thought, as he dragged the surprised man into his arms for a tight, relieved hug. “Really,” Loki pulled back, gifting Steve with one of his rare, genuine smiles, running tired hands over worried features and cupping Steve’s cheek. “I am sorry. I hadn’t meant to worry you, but let me assure you the trip was well worth it.”

“You could have at least told me where you were going.” Steve huffed, finding it hard to remain cross with his lover. “Or at least that you were going _somewhere_. I’m getting too old for this.”

“Ah, but Captain, then it would not have been a surprise.” Loki grinned, pulling a leather-bound notebook from the small bag he had been carrying, Steve’s eyes widening almost instantly in recognition.

“Is that..?” Taking the book with trembling hands, Steve began to flick through the pages; sketches, ones of Peggy, of Bucky, of the Howling Commandos, of cats and dogs and people he had never known the names of. Pictures he himself had sketched out, coming up to a century ago, of a life long since lost to him. “I never thought I’d see this again.” There were tears in his eyes when he finally looked up, catching the soft, tender expression on his lover’s face.

“I am nothing if not resourceful.” With a low chuckle, Loki drew Steve forward into a slow kiss, letting him set the pace and simply holding him for a while. “Happy birthday, my Captain. My Steve.”


	5. Don't Leave, Too Loud, How Dare You

Steve’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched eyes boring into Loki’s skull like blue fire, and for the first time he wondered if he had, perhaps, gone too far. Loki swallowed thickly as the Captain took a step forward, but he did not back down, though as Steve’s lip curled up to reveal white teeth he felt the first flutterings of fear in his belly.

“How dare you.” Steve hissed through clenched teeth, it taking most of his willpower not to simply punch the would-be god, to break his jaw and leave him bleeding upon the floor. “How _dare_ you speak to me like that, _how dare you_ mention their names, to even _speak_ of them!” His nostrils flared and it was too much, too loud, and Loki wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, cover his ears and pretend nothing was amiss, as he had as a child.

He had no answer; the Captain’s tirade had struck him dumb, mouth hanging slightly open as though his tongue might work for itself. Something, _anything_ to calm the situation, to take back words spoken in haste, for a reaction, for attention, the malice behind them forced for effect. He hadn’t meant any of it.

Steve forced himself into silence, the unbridled fury still evident on his features. Turning, he stormed from the room before he could do something he might regret, slamming the door in his wake, the lock clicking into place to ensure Loki would remain where he had been left. He did not bother to look back, did not see how Loki slumped back against the wall, the smallest plea of ‘don’t leave’ falling from his lips as he stared near-desperately after the retreating back of his Captain, his saviour, and wondered if perhaps he had just lost the one person he had so desperately wished to keep.


	6. Defy

“You cannot win, Captain!” Loki laughed as he easily danced away from the threat that was Captain America’s shield, eyes sparkling with mirth as he dodged and twisted, the good Captain’s eyes fixed upon him. “For to do that, you should have to catch me.”

“This isn’t a game Loki, you won’t get away.” Steve replied, keeping his voice purposefully loud, retrieving his shield and racing after the errant Asgardian. “This’ll hurt a lot less if you just come quietly.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you Captain? Coming quietly.” Loki’s voice in his ear suddenly, barely a murmur and enough to send blood rushing to his cheeks and further south. Steve turned, spinning on his heel and following the retreating back of the super-villain. 

The rest of the team were soon out of sight, out of earshot, and with his finger barely raised from the off-switch of his communicator Steve found himself pinned against a firm chest, hot lips descending upon his own. Loki crowded him back against the building he had chosen for cover, kissing him as one starved for affection, and Steve was more than happy to kiss back with equal fervour.

“You defy the wishes of your underlings by meeting with me, and yet here you are.” Licking and nipping a trail down Steve’s chin and neck, Loki earned a shudder from the man beneath him, the action only spurring him on further. “What _would_ they say if they saw you like this, fraternising with the enemy?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” Came the low reply, strong fingers burying themselves in Loki’s hair, dragging his head forcefully back up so that Steve could initiate another searing, bruising kiss.


	7. Alone, finally & Collapse

He was exhausted, breathing laboured and with a wetness to it that belied hidden damage he had not yet been able to heal. Loki had caught the worst of Doom’s attack, the surprisingly powerful energy canon ripping past his defences as though they were nothing, leaving him broken and bleeding upon the floor. It took time to recharge after each shot, though, and that time gave Thor the opening he needed to destroy the thing.

Loki had not seen what had happened to Doom, had pushed himself up onto unsteady feet as soon as he had been able, gaze flying around the battlefield from one face to the next, checking, searching. They were all still there; good. The Hawk’s bow arm was lodged at an unnatural angle, and the Hulk had horrific burns covering much of his back from where he had tried to shield the Spider, but other than that everyone seemed to be unscathed.

Everyone bar him.

Loki’s eyes had lingered on the Captain, his own green meeting concerned blue for a moment and the god of mischief throwing a small, unconcerned smile at the man, before teleporting away. It would do Steve no good to fret over him in the middle of a fight, or even at the end of one, and Loki had nothing else he could use to aid them.

He did not go far, _could_ not go far, finding a quiet spot a scant few hundred yards from the fight, the sound of hammer on iron carrying even at that distance. Alone, finally, he let himself lean bodily against the edge of the building he had taken refuge beside, trying to focus, to draw on what small magical reserves he had to try to heal the worst of the damage.

“Hey.” Thankfully, he had managed to fix the hole in his lung before anyone found him, his breathing clearing somewhat as he turned to regard the Captain’s approach, more than a little aware of the extra pair of eyes watching from the shadows. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know.” Steve looked concerned, which Loki had expected, though it still brought a small pang of guilt to his chest.

“No, I think we both know I did.” Pushing off from the wall, Loki wobbled more than he had hoped he might, but found he did not mind overly much when strong arms wrapped around his waist, holding him up. The waver to his vision was disconcerting, though, as was the slight slur to his voice. “You might have survived, though I was not about to risk it, along with Stark and the Hulk, but the Spider and the Hawk? I would not wish the pain of their loss upon you.” He merely shrugged, the motion lazy.

“True. I’m not sure Clint would have walked away from that one.” Steve frowned, his mood sobering further. “Thank you, then. But I do wish you’d stop insisting on getting yourself hurt.”

“I shall endeavour to…to…” Whatever Loki had been about to say was lost, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth as he let himself collapse against the Captain, eyes sliding shut as Steve’s panicked cries filtered through the haze of his mind. Maybe, he thought as the darkness claimed him and he was finally able to rest, this wasn’t so bad.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of torture, mentions of abuse, character death

“Filthy, _vile_ creature!” The boot came down hard upon the back of his hand, breaking at least two fingers. Another found its way to his stomach and ribcage, each blow harder than the last, splintering bone lost in the cries of pain that fell from his split lips. It kept going until he heaved, blood and liquid forced up and pouring from his mouth, burning as he coughed and retched.

He was left to lay in it, shivering and naked upon the hard floor. They did not bother to string him back up; he could barely stand by himself when they had first dragged him down, much less after a beating like that. He had, as they said, asked for it.

It was, after all, better that way.

For as long as they focused on him, on beating him, on hurting him, punishing him, then they would not turn their sights elsewhere. From somewhere above his head, Loki could hear his name being called, too tired and sore to move, to look up, and he lost his battle with consciousness.

When Loki awoke, it could not have been more than a scant thirty minutes later, his injuries just starting to heal over and fingers resetting themselves painfully. His magic was limited, but not gone; internalised by the bracelets upon his wrists, once sparkling and new, now dulled through too much wear and tear. He could not have said how long he had been down there, hidden from sight, the light of the sun a long distant memory, but it might have been years if not for the arrival of a familiar face some scant weeks prior.

The Captain had been unconscious when they had dragged him in, strung him up beside Loki, still clothed and mercifully unharmed. For the moment.

They had enjoyed trying to break the Captain, for the first few days at least. His screams had been heart-rending, and Loki had wished that they would stop. Had wished they’d captured someone, anyone else but him. Anyone but the Captain. After the first few days, though, Loki had recovered enough that he was able to speak, something he had been denied for so long, his voice wrecked from his own screams.

And, of course, the first thing he did with his new-found gift was to antagonise his captors. They had not taken the insult well, and the torture that evening was long and drawn out, needles and knives in place of boots and fists. When they strung him back up, hours later, he was somewhat pleased to notice that the Captain remained untouched that night.

It became a regular thing, then; he would find some way to earn either ire, and they would forego their intentions to harm the Captain in place of teaching him a lesson. It was a lesson he was not planning on learning any time soon, though, and so it continued. The Captain’s friends would arrive for him sooner rather than later, he reasoned, so he only need stay alive long enough for that to happen.

“You still choose to defy me.” The man had returned - Loki still did not know his name, did not care enough to know - and it was the booted foot upon his back that woke him from his slumber.

“For as long as I am able.” It was barely a rasp, but he earned another kick in the ribs for his insolence, the man sneering over his prone form.

“Then let us make that time all the shorter. I tire of you.” A kick sent him sprawling onto his back, staring up at a grey ceiling and the leering face of his captor, before something long and sharp stabbed up into his ribcage. He did not cry out, but his eyes widened, hearing a voice that was not his own - the Captain, he presumed - shout for him. For a moment, Loki welcomed the warm embrace of death, before realisation hit him full-force; if he were to die, now, there would be no one to stand between the Captain and his enemies. Panic surged through him, lighting a fire within and he fought back, finding strength he did not know he still possessed, wrenching the knife out and thrusting it up, the surprised look on the man’s face remaining even in death as the long blade pierced through his jaw and up, into his brain.

“Loki, please, just hold on.” The Captain begged from somewhere to his left, and Loki could imagine those concerned eyes looking down at him, watching him slowly bleed out, too tired and weak to repair the damage. _Hold on for what, though?_ He did wish that he had time and strength enough left to stand, to free the Captain, to see that he might escape safely and perhaps, _perhaps_ …

But no, that was a fool’s way of thinking. _Thor’s_ way. Loki was not such an idealist that he could not imagine the shock that would reflect in those beautiful blue eyes, or the scorn that would twist that perfect mouth. No, he knew his place, and his place was not at the side of one so pure and untainted as Steve Rogers.

Gunshots sounded from outside the room, and despite himself Loki felt a surge of hope. He caught only the slightest glimpse of red hair as his vision faded, _the Spider_ he found himself thinking with relief and finally let himself leave, soft smile etched upon his features and eyes glassy. It was better this way.


End file.
